


Two Wolves of Grey

by StarksInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: GOT Season 7 Missing Scene, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth
Summary: After GOT 704 (Arya’s arrival). Sansa has a welcome home gift for Arya and the two share words about how their lives have gone.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark
Kudos: 27





	Two Wolves of Grey

The project took her long than Sansa wanted it to, but there is so much preparation each day that when she turns in, she is more likely to fall into her soft, warm bed than sit in the hard-backed chair besides the cracking flame in hearth.

A part of her feels guilty, too, that this had taken so long. She had finished her project for Bran well before Arya’s, but he did come home nearly three weeks before - it was, after all, quite soon after Jon left. And there was less to do in those earlier days, when so much had been done by Jon and Davos. But now, when the winds blew harder and colder, and more people than anticipated making their way to the wintertown, now things are more difficult.

Yet finally, the cloak was done. Sansa holds her hands out and inspects her handiwork, taking in the crossed leather straps and the snarling wolves on either piece. It was topped with a shoulder covering of dark grey fur to fight the cold. She had sewn a soft grey linen on top of the heavier, warmer wool, and embroidered something extra against the edge of the grey, missing from Jon and Bran’s cloaks - two small wolves, both grey, with one nestled, sleeping, in a ball and the other, reared up atop a rock, its snout drawn into a howl.

Sansa shakes the cloak for effect and rises from her chair. She stretches her neck from side to side, letting the unladylike cracking happen before she goes. She leaves her room - her parents’ chamber - and heads down the hall.

Flickering torches line the dark passageway, and the late hour of night has kept the First Keep empty. She walks down two flights of stairs until she reaches the floor she occupied with her sister all those years ago, and where Ramsay had locked her up since then.

Sansa hesitates outside of Arya’s room, unsure of how to proceed, even though the fire is obviously bright beneath the fire. Finally, she knocks. Something tells her Arya is still asleep.

She doesn’t hear steps before the door opens and Arya stares back at her, a nightshift on her body and ablanket wrapped round her shoulders. Her sister squints. “Sansa?”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Sansa worries. Arya shakes her head.

“I don’t sleep, much.”

“Neither do I.” An awkwardness, almost worse than what loomed between her and Jon - Jon, who she never spoke with, and didn’t spend all her hours as a child with - is there between the sisters. Finally, Arya breaks the silence.

“I’m guessing you want to come in, and don’t go around knocking on doors for fun?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

Arya steps into her room without another word, and Sansa follows after. This chamber is smaller than the one she occupies now, but just as large as Arya ever needed as a child. She’s made her mark on the room, with little things - a helm, swiped from the armory, sits in the crook of a window; blue winter roses line the mantel, and a collection of knives, swords, and bows are piled messily in a corner.

Arya watches her sister take it all in, and narrows her eyes. “I know it’s messy but - ”

“I like it.” Sansa looks away from the flowers. “It’s very characteristic of you.”

“… thank you, Sansa.” Arya nestles herself into a chair besides the fire, and motions to the other one. “If you plan to stay long, you may as well sit.”

Sansa takes the offered seat, piling the cloak against her lap. She runs a finger along the fur trim, staring into the fire. “I came to bring you something.”

Arya looks up from her own gazings. Sansa holds out the cloak, watching uneasily as Arya pulls it to herself. She takes in the Stark sigils, pets the fur, and finally catches the two wolves on the backside. She traces their figures delicately, with more care than Sansa knew she had in her. Finally, Arya meets Sansa’s eyes again.

“It’s Nymeria and Lady, isn’t it?”

Sansa nods, carefully. “I miss them all, everyday. I think King’s Landing may have been easier, if we had our wolves by our sides.”

“They wouldn’t’ve survived.” Arya says darkly. “We barely made it out alive.”

Sansa falls silent. She isn’t sure if _she’s_ really alive, sometimes.

“Thank you, Sansa. It’s lovely.” Arya traces a hand against Nymeria’s howling form again.

Sansa stares intently at the fire. She isn’t sure for how long. Finally, the questions that have been eating at her since Arya first arrives bubbles up, unbidden, and is out before she can phrase it carefully. “Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

Arya startles. Sansa can see her swallow. There is so much unopened doors between the sisters, keeping out the dangerous and hurts of their time together and their lives since, and she is worried that by opening them they will be forced down a hall they cannot return from.

“The Night’s Watch recruiter tried to sneak me out of King’s Landing, back to Winterfell and Robb. He cut my hair and made me act like a boy.” The way she says it, Sansa knows there must be more.

“But you never made it back.”

“I did.” Arya’s eyebrows knit together. The shadows dance across her face. “I was so close - the Hound tried to bring me to the Twins, but we were too late.”

“The Hound?” Sansa’s heart quickens. She didn’t know he was still alive, after disappearing in the night. “But he was in King’s Landing - ”

“I told you when I returned, it’s a long story.”

Sansa looks at her sister, really _looks_ at her. There may not be much that she knows, but Sansa can tell that this is a much harder Arya than she once knew. There is something, a certain fierceness, that while always present had not been honed. Sansa is not the only Stark to turn to steel.

She reaches out and grabs Arya’s hand, clutching it over the portrait of their former companions. “And I want to know it.”

“Fine, but tell me first - do you still love Joffrey?” Arya’s eyes are darkened storms. “You said you wished you killed him, but do you mean it?”

“He was no true prince.” Sansa glances out the window into the storming gusts of snow outside. “He blamed me for every one of Robb’s victories. He had his knights strip me and beat me in front of his court. He - he threatened to have me, once my lord husband was done with me. And he killed Father when he said he would grant him mercy. I mean it with every part of my soul.”

Arya surprises Sansa when she squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“They threatened me, too, in the Riverlands.” Arya swallows again. Its a habit Sansa has noticed in Jon, and she smiles softly to see it in the Stark most like their half-brother. “Yoren - the man of the Watch - tried to get all his recruits North safely, but we were overtaken by fighters. I spent time at Harrenhal, under Lannister control, but escaped with other recruits.

“Father’s old men found us, Berric Dondarrion and some others, and knew me for a Stark. They were going to take me to Mother and Robb, until the Hound took me from them.” She observes Sansa’s response - she knows Sansa reacted strangely before. “He tried to do the same - to bring me to the Twins for Uncle Edmure’s wedding. We arrived as the killing started.”

Sansa can’t even imagine this. It was bad enough, to hear the talk of the Red Wedding while in Joffrey’s court, with only Tyrion to offer her comfort, but to be there, to know her mother was dying as she was so close, to have seen the blood of good Northern men be shed while they broke bread and salt - she wipes away the tears in her eyes, blinking again to chase away the sadness. “I’m sorry, Arya.”

“I left the Hound at the Trident after a fight that left him wounded. I don’t know if he’s yet alive.”

Sansa tries to hide the renewed upset that finds her. She has no thoughts of the hounds, she thinks, but he was kind to her. “Was that before you came here?”

“No. I’ve been to Braavos and back…” Arya wanders off, thoughts forming rapidly behind her steady eyes. “I was learning from people, you see, everywhere. The Faceless Men, the performers, everyone there taught me something.

“But they tried to take away Arya, to destroy who I am.” Arya looks up from the flame again. Her jaw stiffens in resolution. “So I fled back to Westeros, but I am done fleeing now.”

“You’re home again.” Sansa says, fiercely. “We will never lose Winterfell again. There will never be anymore fleeing for any of the Starks.”

I hid on the streets of King’s Landing. I was there in the square, when they killed Father with his own sword. “And Sansa?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you, again, for the cloak.” Arya smiles at her sister, a genuine thing, and there is hope again for the Starks of Winterfell.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, OT3, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


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